


Manipulate to Separate

by fistingfestival



Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: Disembowelment, Gen, Gore, Monsters, Nightmares, Swearing, bills gonna frick dipdop up, how do u drive a kid insane????, theres a little bit of that so im sorry, watch and learn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-08-05
Updated: 2015-08-05
Packaged: 2018-02-21 08:25:28
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,215
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2461469
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fistingfestival/pseuds/fistingfestival
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sixteen year old Dipper is used to nightmares, but not when they're gruesome enough to affect him in reality. When his night terrors begin to introduce a new star to the show, Dipper doesn't know how long he can keep his cool and while Mabel just wants to help her twin brother out, anything she tries does much more harm than good. Meanwhile, a certain demonic entity is plotting the world's demise.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Manipulate to Separate

**Author's Note:**

> i can't write summaries and I suck at titles but whatever, man. basically dipper's freaking out in his dreams all thanks to bill freakin cipher. also, i didn't know if i should tag this as 'graphic depictions of violence' but.. yeah idk, sorry. this could turn into a multi-chapter kinda thing but i say that a lot, woooooops.  
> enjoy!!

His screams tore through the empty, grey dreamscape, echoing against invisible walls and rebounding back to pierce his own eardrums. The nightmarish creature descended upon him, claws catching on his chest before scraping downward over his clothes. Those razor sharp talons shredded his clothing, burying themselves right down and directly into Dipper’s flesh. 

He knew it was a dream – he knew it! But still, a sudden wave of intense heat and sickening agony was washing through him, drowning him in the illusion of pain. He couldn’t comfort himself with the knowledge of his certain survival – how could you die from a dream? – because living through this wasn’t something he wanted to think about, even if he _could_ push through the terror in his mind and piece together coherent sentences. After all this torment, he would prefer to just die. He couldn’t take the pain of constant attacks whenever he finally passed out from exhaustion and managed to get a few hours of sleep.

Dipper felt his eyes roll backward as liquid seeped into the remaining shreds of his pyjama shirt. Blood splattered to the ground around him, making it a great deal harder for his sweaty palms to push against the slick ground in an attempt to propel his body backward and out of harms way. He could no longer scream; his throat was throbbing and raw. The creature hovering above gave an awful, bone-chilling grumble that he recognised as a twisted version of laughter. 

Controlling his weakened muscles as best he could, Dipper twisted his body until those claws slid free. He began to drag himself on his side, through the red puddles to his right. His arms shook in exertion but he didn’t dare stop. A brief glance at his torso confirmed that the deep lacerations to his chest and stomach were still spewing crimson at a rate that would have him wake up from this nightmare in no time – still, waking up _right this second_ was definitely preferred. Unfortunately, as always, his body decided to hold out a little longer. 

Pain continued to beat through him in the same unsteady rhythm of his panicked heart but all of that terrible near-death bullshit was abruptly pushed to the back of Dipper's mind when the disgusting laughter of the beast warped into the sweet voice of his twin sister.

“Dipper?” He could hear the smile in her voice. It was nice. Different to the usual nightmare routine of blood and gore. Dipper tried to turn his head – to reply, to see her, to ask for some sort of help, maybe – but he couldn’t. He couldn't muster up the energy. His vision blurred and his head felt as though it was drifting away. Her voice cut through the fuzz, clear as crystal.

She gasped, “Oh, bro! Your clothes!” Mabel was beside him now, her hands pushing him onto his back before running along the edges of his deep cuts. Her fingertips were so warm compared to every part of Dipper that she touched. When had that happened? When had the heat receded and left him so cold? He couldn’t remember…

“Ma… bel…” His words didn’t reach her. The blurred colours of her bright outfit were moving too fast for his fading vision to focus. She was kneeling beside him, though, both hands now preoccupied with examining his wounds. Why wasn’t she helping? Or screaming or freaking out or calling Grunkle Stan or _anything?_

“Ooooh... What happened here?” She giggled, a single finger slipping into one of the wounds on his stomach. Dipper choked out a noise of disagreement, now trying to writhe away from his sister. His body was still too weak; the most he could do was back on his side. What was she doing? What the fuck was happening? Already, his panic was resurfacing.

Hastily, he tried speaking again, “Ah--…! Mabl… e… Don’t t-… tou… ch…” The pain had returned, but it was being held back by that fuzz. He was almost grateful, even if he knew the weird fuzz was what had slowed his movements and blurred his vision. He was dying – that’s what it was – so, so slowly. How, though? He barely had any more blood to lose. It was all over the floor beneath him. He should be dead. Why wasn't he dead?

Her finger curled around, as if it were searching for something, “Huh? Speak up, DipDop!” She was laughing. This wasn’t funny. He was fucking dying. Why couldn’t she see that? Dream or not, she should be freaking out, not sticking her fingers inside the gaping wounds.

“Sto… p!” Dipper choked out, a thin mixture of blood and saliva dribbling from his lower lip. Tears were welling in his eyes, obscuring his vision even further. He didn’t have any time to prepare himself for Mabel's sudden jerk of movement. She thrust herself forward and behind the fuzz, Dipper felt a searing pain. 

Multiple fingers wriggled about inside his gut, hands curling around whatever was in reach before beginning to slide back out and into the open air. Blinking rapidly and attempting to will away his tears, which instead simply streaked down his bloody cheeks, Dipper managed to finally catch a somewhat clear image of his twin.

There she was, pristine and shimmering in her brightly coloured sweater and skirt, her hands bloodied up to the wrists. Dipper could feel the tugging from his stomach and as Mabel leaned back to get comfortable, the pulling feeling dug deeper into his abdomen. In her hands was a section of his large intestines, dripping crimson and looking as slimy as one would expect. 

He was going to fucking vomit.

With another laugh that Dipper could only describe as sickeningly sweet, Mabel flashed a grin at him, looking almost malicious. His organs dripped and stained her skirt, but she didn't even notice. The young boy swallowed thickly, tasting nothing but a metallic cocktail of his blood and fear – and then he screamed.

Jolting into a sitting position, Dipper’s hands flew to his stomach. He kept screaming, squirming in his bed as the phantom ghost of pain assaulted his midsection. Goosebumps rose all over his skin and before he could even begin to calm down, Mabel was at his side, sleepily rubbing at one eye. 

“Dipper? Are you alright?” She asked in her regular, groggy drawl that he'd heard every morning of his short life. He screamed again, real tears pooling in his eyes as he scrambled away from her in favour of pressing himself against the wall. Mabel threw her hands up in surrender, looking genuinely worried as she tried to talk her twin brother into a state of anything other than pure terror.

"Whoa, hey - it's me. It's me, Dipper! It's me, it's Mabel!"

Hours passed. When he wouldn’t respond or allow Mabel to touch him, she instead sat on the floor and calmly recited old horror movie quotes that she knew her brother would remember. He barely responded, but eventually, a whispered and shaky “okay... okay, it's you...” interrupted Mabel's spiel of quotes. Neither of them slept after this – they didn't bother to even try – but Dipper had stopped screaming and crying. That was progress enough.

And that was the first night Dipper dreamed of his sister brutally murdering him.


End file.
